


Clean and Dry

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, shower but no sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/4777.html?thread=15152553#t15152553">this prompt</a>: "221b Baker Street is a flat in a pre-war building. The hot water heater is old and small, and only really produces about 10-15 minutes of hot water in one go. Showering together is the only logical solution.</p><p>Your challenge? NOT slash."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean and Dry

John had spoken to Mrs Hudson about it two days after he moved in. He was used to coping with restricted access to hot water, but he wasn't in Afghanistan now. There was no need to put up with field amputations, getting shot, or cold showers.

"Sorry dear, but I can't afford to replace the system you know. Especially not with Sherlock putting bullet holes in the wall and staining my carpet with his experiments." She had patted his arm, made him a cup of tea, and bustled away to make herself one of her herbal soothers.

After that, John arranged had morning routine to be up in plenty of time to let the antiquated system heat enough water for a quick splash and dash shower before Sherlock was even awake. Well, before Sherlock was awake on the rare nights he went to sleep. It was always disconcerting getting up at stupid o'clock, stumbling bleary eyed towards the kettle, and hearing a bored voice call out "Tea. And toast," from the living room sofa.

Today had all the appearances of being like any other one of those rare occasions that Sherlock had actually spent the night in his room rather than on the sofa. John had made a brew, taken the steaming mug back to his room, and headed into the bathroom. He dropped a towel over the radiator, had a pee, turned on the shower. Waited ten seconds for the water to run hot - not enough, but any more felt wasteful given how quickly the hot water ran out - and stepped under.

The water was tepid, but quickly warming up, and anyway he needed to wake up. He let the water run over the top of his head, cascading down over his face, his chest and back. He had learnt to luxuriate for brief moments in the shower, enjoying the feel of the water all over before he had to rush through washing and scrubbing. He still had his eyes closed savouring the final few seconds of wallowing, even as he reached for the shower gel. Which meant that it took almost a second for him to realise what it meant when his fingers brushed up against another hand that had apparently reached for the bottle a moment earlier.

"What the fuck!?" John's eyes snapped open, he spun round. Sherlock looked back at him, the look on his face halfway between innocent and bored.

"John, I have to attend a rather tiresome but unfortunately necessary meeting this morning, and I have no intention of attending it unclean. I certainly can't wait until the water has heated after your shower, and if I thought there was even a chance you would be prepared to be an hour late to the surgery this morning I would have asked you to wait until after I'd showered. Therefore this is the only solution."

John stared, open mouthed. He honestly had no idea how to react. Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes was standing bollock naked not a foot away from him, fully intent on sharing a communal shower. Not to mention that John was, coincidentally, standing bollock naked not a foot away from Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes.

"John, I estimate that we have less than seven minutes of hot water left. Are you intending to stand there until the water runs cold, or are you intending to wash?”

Apparently Sherlock thought there was nothing to discuss. John took a moment to consider the situation. He was pretty sure that any sense of modesty that Sherlock had ever possessed had been crushed somewhere between his expensive public schooling and his natural rejection of social mores. John retained a vestigial sense of privacy that had somehow survived rugby, med school and the Army, but he had also learnt to put it aside when necessary. Given that Sherlock was now obliviously lathering himself up, and there were only six minutes of hot water left, John mentally shrugged, pencilled in yet another chat about boundaries when Sherlock was in one his rare receptive moods, and reached for the shower gel again.

Whatever John's previous experience of communal showering, there had never been much physical contact, but then he'd never shared a shower in a bath with another person before. A tall, gangly, no sense of personal space person.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock, hands!"

Sherlock gave the minutest of shrugs and a tiny quirk of the lips that might generously be interpreted as a hint of an apology. There was rather more awkward shuffling back and forth under the water to rinse themselves off than John had expected - in the ten seconds he spent expecting before the practicalities took over - but it was an oddly pragmatic experience. Within five minutes each man was tolerably clean, which was handy as that was just about the moment that the water started running cold. Sherlock stepped out of the bath first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself as he left the room. John stepped out into the bathroom, and paused for a few seconds, wondering what the hell just happened. Then he shook himself, remembering he was on a deadline. He reached for the towel he'd placed on the radiator earlier - and realised that was the towel that Sherlock had taken. 

The lanky _bastard_.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in December 2010.


End file.
